The Scroll Of Kesmehet
by The Flying Breadstick
Summary: There's yet another cursed treasure buried deep within the earth,waiting for a certain pirate captain to lay claim to it. Within this story are old friends, new foes, blatant disregard concerning ancient history, science, nature...and a drag queen? ON HIA
1. Poor, Bullied Bootstrap

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**Summary:** Anyone who's been paying attention to the cast listings of the PotC sequels would realise that Bootstrap Bill is very much alive… (and sprouting barnacles, apparently.) I've decided to take this one step further…  
Yep, he's alive, and he's brought an ancient cursed treasure to the attentions of a certain pirate captain we all know and love, (he also brought a drag queen with questionable sexual preferences, but let's not get into that now, shall we?) with only an encrypted scroll as clue to its whereabouts…

**Disclaimer:** Hey, if I owned _Pirates of the Caribbean_, I'll be lying on a beach filming my story instead of sitting here typing it up for your own leisurely perusing…

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**The Scroll Of Kesmehet **

_Prologue: Poor, Bullied Bootstrap_

A very funny thing had happened to William Turner, once upon a time: he'd fallen in love. Completely, utterly, hopelessly, desperately so. Which, coincidentally, led to another thing he did that he'd always deemed unusual: letting a woman talk him into walking down the aisle, even though he'd been completely against the whole idea of such a cruel concept such as the likes of monogamy to begin with, and, without a doubt, still was. But, alas Bill Turner, poor bastard that he was, remained completely infatuated with the woman, and no amount of alcohol, opium, or hell, even very mild doses of laudanum could take that away from him, and he'd finally consented to throwing his liberty and all of its entitlements away to make her happy, because that was what love did to people. (And besides, Juliet had as good as said—what was the exact quote? Ah, yes—that until the day she'd been made an honest woman by the man that she'd loved, she was keeping her legs firmly crossed, thank you _very much_ for the offer, but she wasn't a whore.)

Two years later, he'd somehow winded up with a bouncing baby boy on his knee (whom he'd named after himself simply because of lack of originality on both his and his spouse's account) after nine months of slavery and abuse (verbal and otherwise) from the woman that he'd thought he'd loved.

Now that's what you call irony.

Faced with the sudden responsibility of a family, his darling Juliet had all but thrown him out of their small little London home with the ominous threat of no access granted until he'd returned with a higher-paying form of employment than gambling and fraud whilst she pursued the unreliable career of whoredom. (And _that_, my friends, is just plain bad luck and timing.)

It looked like poor, abused, terrorised Bill was going to have pursue the career of a sailor, and this he did, slaving away on a merchant ship that was constantly travelling to Africa and the Americas, with nary a glimpse of his fair wife and bonny son. He continued this tiresome profession for nine years or so, until one fine lucky day, as he wondered upon one of London's docks, he'd come across a young gentleman, inspecting a fine, light vessel tinted a deep ebony, who'd called himself Jack Sparrow, and had managed to somehow commission his own ship at the startling age of twenty-three. He was a little naïve, and he was a tad more than faintly idealistic, but Bill did not care; he'd spoken of going on the account, or piracy. Bill had travelled to Africa quite a few times in his occupation, and he had begun to form bonds with a corsair ship by the strangely English name of the _Silver Chimera_, but this here was an opportunity to travel to the exotic Indies, and William Turner was more than ready for another angle at which he could employ his finely-crafted seamanship. Sparrow had also spoken of a cursed treasure of an _Isla de Muerta_, Aztec gold crafted by the very hands of the gods themselves, apparently, although this could very possibly have been a faint embellishment, and William, unable to believe his sudden good luck, was more than happy to follow this daft kid's plans.

Of course, it didn't last; within two months of arriving in the West Indies, Jack Sparrow had been left marooned upon an island to die, whereas Bill had somehow ended up with a cannon—yes, a _cannon_—laced to his boots and thrown overboard to drown.

Now _that's_ what he called 'a bad day'.

Of course, those bastards of Barbossa's had forgotten to disarm him completely—he'd still possessed a dagger in his boot, and his ropes were very easy to twist out of, so all in all, it could, he supposed, have been worse. He was able to escape from his bonds in fifteen seconds, after carefully removing his weapon from his footwear, and after that it was simply a matter of cutting through the straps of his shoes to let the cannon sink to the bottom whilst he swam for the surface.

Being a cursed immortal really wasn't that bad. A privilege was most certainly the ability to stay underwater without a limit, whilst another was his lack of fatigue whilst he journeyed to the port of Kingston, Jamaica.

The conclusion of this short little tale is simply this: poor Bootstrap Bill was without his prized boots. However, he still possessed his seamanship…

…And his piratical friends of Africa…

So naturally, he bartered passage to the Barbary Coast, and after several weeks of endless searching, came across the _Silver Chimera_ once again. Using his influence over the European captain, Bill was given permission to join the crew, and it was to this fate that our hero resigned himself, content to remain cursed till the end of eternity if Jack Sparrow's life was the price that had been paid…

If only he knew that, eleven years later, he would embark on a little quest that would coincidentally lead him to an encounter with his young companion once again…

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**AN:** Thoughts and comments will all be welcomed… Tips/criticisms especially so… 


	2. Yet Another Treasure Hunt

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**The Scroll of Kesmehet**

_Chapter One: Yet Another Treasure Hunt_

Jack just stared at his friend in shock.

"So let me get this straight," he started as though certain he'll regret it. "After all this time of not hearing a single word from you—letters, mementoes, souvenirs, the odd Christmas present—you come sailing back into the Caribbean on your fine ole African ship, waltz up to my _Pearl_, and demand I take you aboard as a sailor."

"Yes, that does sound more or less accurate," the first William Turner agreed.

More staring.

"Are you out of your bloody mind?"

"Not really, no."

"Huh." The captain leaned back, attempting to contemplate the situation fully. Suddenly righting himself upon his chair, he leaned across the desk and, with a sheathed dagger, poked his companion.

Hard.

The sudden bellow and various threats of castration that followed echoed loudly across the deck of the _Black Pearl_.

"Just checking you're actually here, is all," Jack explained nonchalantly.

"By bearing a hole right through and into my back!"

"Well, I had to make certain you were real, for obvious reasons; this isn't the first time supposedly dead men from my past loom threateningly out of the shadows one fine stormy night and make ridiculous demands of me."

Bill raised a dark eyebrow. "If you're talking about the one time you and I were impersonating prostitutes—"

A hand suddenly clamped down on the man's mouth as a fearful voice hissed, "Did we not take an oath to _not_ mention _that_ ever again?"

"Ah, yes; _that_. One of many, if my memory serves…"

"Which it doesn't," the pirate reminded.

"No, it really doesn't," Bill agreed, having pried the younger man's bejewelled fingers off of his chin. They merely sat staring at each other for many awkward moments.

"Jack, my joining… Your response?"

The dread-locked pirate gave him a disbelieving look. "Oh, it's all very well and good, as far as you're concerned…"

Bootstrap Turner sighed. "And here comes the prerequisites," he grumbled.

"However, you've forgotten to mention one very important thing: What's in it for me?"

Of course; the gain. He should have known that Sparrow wasn't one to let sentiments such as friendship and loyalty stand in his way, nor qualify as sufficient as far as the running of his ship was concerned.

Luckily, Mr Turner had been prepared for this turn of events. Smiling, he reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a small little wooden box with gilded edges and tossed it onto the table.

Jack merely stared. "Either that's meant to sing and dance for my amusement or it somehow leads to a treasure hoard, which, considering my past experiences with such caches, will undoubtedly be of the cursed variety," he stated.

Bill nodded solemnly. "There's a young lad on the ship I've been serving on, the _Chimera_, that found it somewhere in an African slave market…"

"You expect me to sail to _Africa?_"

"I'm expecting you to shut up and listen to me tell you of a legend linked to this box," his friend corrected. "Thank you." The man cleared his throat before continuing.

"Apparently, hundreds of thousands of years ago, before _we_ even invented the wheel, there was once a civilisation—a people known as the Kesmehet," he added, the foreign name sounding deep and guttural. "And from there sprouted the rest of humanity."

"Like that whole Atlantis parable."

"_Jack_…"

"…Fine…"

"Anyway," the not-so-dead-as-once-was-believed pirate continued, "these people, they were divided in two, and at constant war with each other—something to do with opposing gods, I'm really not sure on the details—and so weren't on the friendliest of terms, right? And life continued like this for a few thousand years, until two people, one from each side, tried to put a stop to it."

"Let me guess," Jack yawned, already predicting the next turn of events with a less than enthusiastic approach, "forbidden love?"

"Actually, I think they were both the leaders of their respective nations," the man corrected, "important, anyway. But you can only imagine neither god was too happy about that."

"They never are, are they? It's always the gods that get infuriated and do something stupid, like curse a perfectly good treasure hoard…"

"_Jack_…"

"I said I'm sorry, didn't I?"

Bill ignored the urge to point out that the answer to this particular question was undoubtedly a negative. "So they cursed these poor luckless bastards to an eternity of torment—"

"What kind of torment?"

"—I'm not so sure, will you stop?—And split the Kesmehet into different racial groups and spat them out across the globe."

"Yes, this all would make a remarkable bedtime story, to be sure," Jack cut in, his voice tinged with impatience, "but where's the mention of the treasure?"

"I'm getting there. Really, no patience whatsoever…" The brunet placed a hand to his temple as a gesture of recollection. "Where was I? 'Course…" He opened his dark eyes and looked at Jack. "Where do you find gold and silver nowadays?" he asked randomly.

"What the—um… the earth?"

"And diamonds?"

"I believe they share the same home as gold."

"And pearls?"

"The sea," Jack answered uninterestedly whilst wondering if there were any half-decent mental institutions around this area of Honduras.

"According to this legend, pearls grew on trees."

The silence that followed was caused by the delayed reaction of…

"_What!_"

"You heard me."

Now Jack was debating which of the many mental asylums his father had attempted to lock him up in would be appropriate for this strange old friend. "Aren't pearls made from a type of oyster?"

"Very probably," Bill admitted, "but they once grew on trees."

Jack just gaped. "Pa was right; my insanity really _is_ quite contagious…"

"Well, treasure was meant to be just lying about in abundance during the time of the Kesmehet on this great green earth whilst the gods were happy with humanity," Bootstrap amended slightly. But only so very, very slightly; he stood firm by his belief that pearls once sprouted upon branches, and nothing was going to take that away from him. "And then when they cursed their two traitors, they apparently took all of the wealth and buried it deep within the earth—"

"Which part?" he enquired. "_Where?_" he expanded at his companion's puzzled frown.

"I don't know—the centre? Anyway, here's one little aspect of the curse…" And with this short, gripping introduction, the elder of the two men leaned forward dramatically.

"Here's the thing: the gods locked these two mere mortals together in some kind of hell, with a legion of demons to guard them. _But_," he stressed, "the two deities were somehow sympathetic towards these men—or women, I forget—and so, after every few hundred years or so of unrelenting, unstopping torture, they let these two poor bastards out—give them a chance to redeem themselves, buy back their freedom, you know?"

"…I see," Jack replied, processing all of this information. Leaning back upon his chair, he propped his feet arrogantly upon his desk and settled comfortably into the slothful position. "So I'm guessing now's one of those times," he said, already knowing that this would have been the only reason Bootstrap would have even mentioned it to him.

Bootstrap merely nodded. "That would be correct."

A silence descended upon the cabin, broken by the soft creaking of the hull and the faint splashing of the waves. "Well," the captain said at last, "you've got my interest, Bill, I'll give you that."

A crooked grin curled at the pirate's lips. "Of course, there is one slight catch…"

"Does it involve monkeys?" Sparrow asked sharply.

Bootstrap blinked, caught off guard at the completely random enquiry. "What?"

"Monkeys," Jack enunciated. "Primates, apes, chimps… The whole category in general, really…"

"…Not that I'm aware of," he rejoined, uncertain as to whether this was the correct answer.

Apparently, it was.

The younger man breathed out a sigh of relief. "That's what I wanted to hear," he said approvingly. "So, what is it?"

"We need these two kings—or were they priests?—in order to locate the treasure," he said simply and shamelessly. "Something about the two of them together sparks off a chain of events that leads to one of the many doorways into the treasure vault opening… When coupled with this box, of course," he added, waving his hands towards the random object lying half-forgotten on the desk.

"So it becomes a matter of finding them."

"No," Bill corrected softly, "it's a matter of finding out who they _are._"

The captain cracked a gold-toothed grin. "Now that's what I call a challenge." Leaning forward, he opened a drawer and pulled out two glass bottles of rum, sliding one over to his latest crewmember. "Here's to future ill-gotten gain," he smirked, raising the inebriation-inducing substance in a high toast.

Bootstrap merely fidgeted with the cork stopper. "Um… There's one slight condition," he mumbled, bowing his head in supposed humility when he was, in fact, attempting to disguise his curled grin.

Sparrow paused, the bottle halfway to his lips. He stayed in this position for quite a few moments, creating a very amusing freeze-frame. "Oh?"

"Aye. That box," he gestured, "came with a scroll…"

"And you don't know where it is?" Jack filled in for the man.

He shook his head. "On the contrary; I know _exactly_ where it is… But we're faced with the slight dilemma of the owner's obstinate reluctance to hand the thing over, you see."

Jack let out a groan. "I'm gonna have to send Anamaria to seduce him, aren't I?"

"Or alternatively, you can do it yourself," Bill offered, evidently inferring to the event that shall not be mentioned. A frown creased his tanned forehead. "Who's Anamaria, anyway?"

"Oh, no one of significant importance," he waved away airily, reluctantly setting his beloved alcohol down once again. "We're not going to have a good, old-fashioned, proper toast until we've decided how to get around this slight impediment, are we?" he complained.

Using his many years of dealing with whining young piratical men, Bill was able to effectively ignore the younger pirate in favour of vocalising his cunning plan: "We let him join us," he stated confidently. "Let him have an equal share."

The rum was swiftly raised yet again. "Obstruction obliterated," the captain crowed, leaning back yet again.

More fidgeting with the stopper. Rolling his eyes, Jack dropped his elevated arm. "What's wrong with him?" he asked suspiciously.

Another curl of the lip. "Oh, nothing, nothing at all wrong with him, as such: perfectly decent sailor, adheres to the Code without fail, unless instructed otherwise by his captain, unwavering loyalty to the leader…

"He's just the type of man I wouldn't… turn my back to, is all." He paused for dramatic effect. "Ever," he added meaningfully with a raised eyebrow, a knowing glint of amusement in his eye, as though it was a joke that only he could comprehend.

Jack's black eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Thanks for the warning," he uttered, searching his companion's face for any clues as to the private jest at his expense. Finding no obvious allusions as to the meaning of the maliciously laughing eyes, the captain of the revered _Black Pearl_ let out a barely audible sigh of frustration, deciding to let the taunt go.

For now, at any rate.

"Well in that case, here's to the lad joining us upon our latest grand enterprise," Jack brushed off. The clinking of glass soon followed as Bill finally allowed the much-belated toast without voicing another drawback.

"Here's to the treasure, the map—"

"Scroll."

"—the _scroll,_ our future prosperity, and to the enterprising young lad's undying allegiance," Jack continued unfazed, his bottle held high and proud. "May our alliance be lifelong and ever constant."

The smirk that had the audacity to grace Bootstrap's features was maddening in its arrogance. "Indeed," he said, a roguish insinuation that Jack failed to grasp tainting his tone. "Here's to _your_… partnership."

Jack very nearly pummelled his friend for his denigration, but thought better of the tempting act of violence. He still, after all needed the man for the treasure. And he'll discover as to what was so iniquitous about the lad with the scroll that appeared to repel Bill so intensely tomorrow morning. The night, after all, was still young…

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**AN:** Just thought I'll tell you now that it usually takes me about a week to write and upload a chapter, give or take a few days, and that _this_ fast upload was a one-off…  
Next chapter is where the fun really begins… For me, anyway…

**Yesido:** it's amazing how many people don't pay attention to this one tiny little detail that the entire plot of the movie HAPPENS to be centred around, isn't it? Personally I think my wit was lacking in this chapter, but I can almost guarantee it'll return when I write the next. Anyway, I'm glad you like my writing style; the miracles of a thesaurus truly knows no bounds…

**zareen:** Thank you very much; is this update fast enough for you? I only just got your review, and seeing how fast I normally am, to me, this is pretty speedy… Glad you liked it! And the camp drag queen that gives Jack a severe case of paranoia hasn't even made his (or should it be hers?) appearance yet…


	3. The Woman Who Wasn't

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**The Scroll Of Kesmehet**

_Chapter Two: The Woman Who Wasn't_

Early next morning saw a slightly hung over Captain Jack Sparrow swaying on the docks of Venezuela's Port Margarita, carefully supervising the loading of provisions onto his _Pearl_.

"Wait a minute," he muttered peering over the numbers meticulously scribbled upon the scrap paper a second time before he directed his gaze back to one of the many trunks currently being heaved onto the _Black Pearl_. "Put that down!" he barked at Crimp and Locke, who immediately complied and let one extremely weighty chest fall down with a resonating thud. Swaying over, he stood observing the item carefully.

Finally, he gave voice to his opinion. "Who ordered you to load these unnecessary burdens?"

The two men just looked at each other, before Locke spoke hesitantly, "Mr Turner, sir."

"On some other bloke's behalf," Crimp quickly volunteered.

"I see," he duly noted blithely. "Open it up."

"But, sir—"

"That's a direct order!"

"But it's locked, sir," Crimp pointed out unhelpfully. Jack resisted the impulsive urge to roll his eyes heavenward.

"Yes, Mr Crimp, I know fully well that the trunk is locked tighter than a chastity belt," he snapped, impatient to be rid of the curse of steady land. "Break it open."

After yet another uneasy glance shared between the two crewmembers, Locke reluctantly reached for his pistol, pulling back the hammer and taking aim. With one last questioning look at his captain, who ignored him completely, the redhead swallowed as though about to commit a crime which even piracy didn't call for, and pulled back the trigger.

Jack couldn't help the involuntary jump at the sound of the pistol's discharging, leaping back some three feet or so. Adjusting the lapels of his coat, he walked with as much dignity as he could hope to muster, and reached out to push back the smoking lid. If the box did belong to the lad Bill was referring to only two nights ago, then Jack was certain he would find either an arsenal of weaponry, stolen suits of brocaded silk and velvet, or preferably, all of the spoils the cabin boy had acquired during his time on the _Silver Chimera_.

What he discovered was, quite naturally, women's underwear.

A variety of corsets and stays, made of everything from silk to leather to a faintly transparent lacy muslin which he was certain wasn't very effective in reducing the waistline but must look very nice, lay neatly piled up before him in a manner that just screamed "idiotic, paranoid fool".

His widened eyes immediately narrowed as he frowned. Bootstrap did speak of a lad, right…? A former cabin _boy_, as opposed to a former cabin _girl_, if such a thing could go unmolested long enough to actually come into existence?

"Leave the stays where they are," he ordered, turning swiftly back in the opposite direction. He staggered as the spin promptly invited vertigo to his already pounding head, before he was able to ignore his hangover long enough to waltz towards a dark figure sitting on a crate as he continued mesmerising discussion with Gibbs. "Bootstrap—a word, if you'd be so obliging?"

Surprise coloured Bill's handsome features before he nodded, jerking his head towards the other crate Gibbs was occupying. "What's the matter now?" he snapped irritably, clearly displeased as to his captain's inopportune timing of bearing bad news.

"Nothing! Nothing the matter as such. Just a general wondering, really. An innocent enquiry, a common curiosity, as you were."

"Curiosity killed the cat, Sparrow," Bootstrap warned, already sensing that the topic about to be discussed was not one he wished to endeavour.

Jack cocked his head, deeply offended. "I'll have you know that curiosity is the very foundation of education," he began, his hands slowly beginning to dance to the rhythm of his speech. "The basis of all of our learning thrives on curiosity; so if you tell me that the cat was killed whilst undertaking this most greatly admired quest for knowledge, I can only say that the cat died for a grand cause far more important than the life of the cat himself."

A pause. "But the cat still dies."

"The cat died nobly," Jack insisted.

"Ah, but it is still no longer amongst the living," Bill argued. "It upped and left and died and left all of its little baby kittens to fend for themselves and run wild amongst the streets."

Jack once again tilted his head. "Who said the cat was married?" he asked. "I'm talking about a bachelor cat here, with no familial commitments whatsoever; at least not ones that he is aware of…"

"What if I were to tell you that curiosity _castrated_ the cat?" Bootstrap challenged. Mr Gibbs visibly winced, pulling at his faded greying necktie.

"I say only that the cat had a most fierce and loyal crew more than willing to fight for the memory of their leader."

"Ah, but the cat is still alive. He's just not very productive, is all," Bill reminded.

"What makes you think the cat wouldn't hesitate at taking his own life after suffering from the humiliation of castration?" Jack diligently maintained.

"Well, what if I was to tell you that curiosity caused the cat a much greater humiliation than that of castration by shouting out to the whole wide world that the cat was impersonating a woman of the night quite successfully and actually _attempted_ to seduce the cause of said curiosity?"

The captain frowned in befuddlement. "Why would a cat attempt to seduce a trunk's worth of female undergarments?"

"Why wouldn't a cat attempt to seduce a trunk's worth of female undergarments?" a distinctly feminine and accented voice asked, affronted.

Turning his head, Jack was greeted by the sight of a woman wearing a pouting expression and more rouge than he thought was physically possible. Her face had clearly been powdered an unnatural white, and her full lips were all but painted on in red, as were her stained cheeks. Her eyes were large, a deep sapphire-amethyst in colour, long-lashed and quite beautiful—the only attractive thing in an otherwise repulsively painted face.

"_Buon giorno, signor_," the heavily made-up Italian woman greeted, stooping into a low curtsey that looked quite ridiculous, considering that she wore no skirts and was effectively lifting mid-air. "I am the lovely lady with the mythical scroll in her current possession."

"Well, it's very… nice to meet you, milady," Jack replied. He turned back to Bill. "So you meant a woman instead, eh Bootstrap?"

There was that supercilious smirk once again. How Jack hated that expression when he himself did not wear it. "Captain Jack Sparrow," he said formally, laughter begin to dance in his eyes, "I would like to introduce you—"

"Signorina Arabellinasotema di Calatanissetta of Venice," the woman quickly intervened. "And yes, this is a man's wig," she capriciously added, touching the thick black curls that greatly resembled Governor Swann of Port Royal's own artificial locks.

A silence in which Bootstrap Bill emitted several extremely loud coughs.

Swallowing, Jack reluctantly attempted to repeat the wench's inexpressibly unpronounceable name. "Arabellino—"

"Arabelli_na_sotema of Venice, if you don't mind, _signor_," the woman huffed, hands on her hips in a manner of extreme displeasure.

Yet another awkward moment, broken suddenly by Mr Gibbs. "Really, captain, sir," he said, turning to the man he was addressing in disbelief, "why do ye insist on bringing us more bad luck? We've just finished the chicken dance ritual to keep Anamaria onboard without 'arm approaching…"

"Well, you're very lucky he's not a woman then," Bill suddenly intervened.

Jack could feel his stomach coil as his face contorted with horror at actually feeling _attracted_ to the Italian. What was that? Yes, when Jack thought that the he was a she, he _did_ think that s/he was painted just a tad excessively, but he got the impression that she—he, even—would have been much easier on the eyes had he—she—gone without the superfluous flour. And well, his eyes _were_ very feminine and pretty… Anyone could have been fooled into believing he was a woman who was extremely insecure about her looks and so caked her face in baking powder…

"Jack, Mr Gibbs; I'll like to introduce you to Flavio—Flavio—For Christ's sake, boy what's your last name?"

"Calatanissetta," the woman who was not half-heartedly admitted, her face immediately falling. "But I would greatly prefer Signorina Arabellinasotema _di_ Calatanissetta of Venice…" At the captain and quartermaster's dubious looks of horror, the womanly man finally relented.

"Very well… Arabellinasotema will suffice," he said, raising his hand expectantly to Jack's lips. Ever the proper upstanding gentleman that he was, Captain Sparrow immediately grasped the man's hand in a fleeting handshake. The woman who was not and who apparently was named Arabellinasotema di Calatanissetta of Venice immediately scowled, looking more than deeply offended, before he simply shrugged off the nonexistent insult and smiled brightly.

"Say it with me," the she-male said perkily, suddenly (and disturbingly) linking arms with Jack. "Arabellinasotema di Calatanissetta." He immediately settled his head on Jack's shoulder, looking quite at home on the captain's arm.

If only such feelings were automatically mutual.

Looking more than a little traumatized, Jack's eyes immediately sought out the two pirates that he was, just mere moments before, immersed in a deep and intellectual discussion concerning the consequences of feline castration and the seduction of female underwear (not as unusual as one might think). To his perpetual horror, his quartermaster had scuttled away to observe the mending of an unbroken sailcloth, whilst his supposed friend merely choked on silent guffaws.

"Um… Flavio, is it?"

The wigged man immediately pulled away, looking up at the captain in resentment. "Signorina Arabellinasotema di—"

"Won't 'Bob' be adequate?"

The sailor's jaw dropped. He stared up at the captain in disbelief, whist Jack merely met his eyes squarely. Both pirates were thinking the same identical thought:

_Surely he can't be more eccentric than I?_

"Bob? _Bob?_ Why, you—you—Ah, what is the word?—You rapscallion!" And with that, Flavio had delivered a stinging slap to rival his authentically female contemporaries. "I will not _stand_ for such an insult!" And with that came a long string of foreign curses which Jack was certain he didn't need interpreted, followed by a melodramatic twirl, a flick of the counterfeit curls, and a general storming off in the direction of the majestic _Black Pearl_.

"I know what you're thinking," Bootstrap spoke up, coming to stand beside his stunned old friend. "'I really shouldn't have threatened his lingerie', aye?"

"So it _is_ a he?" Jack repeated, rubbing his throbbing cheek.

Bootstrap nodded. "Flavio Carla-something of _Sicily_," he mocked, "and as attracted to women as Barbossa is beautiful."

The captain couldn't help the instinctive brushing off of his shoulder and arm from where Flavio had affectionately clung to. "Is that a warning or a threat, Bootstrap?"

"It's just a fact," Bill answered with ease. "Although there are times when the lad comes to his senses and chases after a strumpet instead."

"Oh really?" Jack pounced a tad too eagerly, the beginning of a strategy already beginning to form in his mind. "And when might those be?"

"Whenever he feels like it," Bill deadpanned, and Jack's expression plummeted faster than a hangman's noose. "Whenever a particularly beautiful or unusual woman catches his eye. I'll keep him away from any of your intended conquests if I were you. The lad can be surprisingly charming."

At long last, the opportunity to belittle Bootstrap concerning Jack's unquestionably irresistible charms had arrived. However, poor Jack was still too disturbed by the upfront and brazen manner of which Flavio had thrown himself at Jack, however playfully, to seize it.

"…But don't worry, he's mostly attracted to men."

"And that's supposed to be comforting, is it?" Jack turned to face the taller man the better to gauge his expression as he asked his next question. "Why couldn't you have just taken the map—"

"It might not be a map," Bill reminded. "It's simply a bejewelled scroll of gold."

"Why couldn't you have simply just taken the _scroll_, and leave Flavio behind in Africa?"

"Because this is much more entertaining!" Turner raised his eyebrows at Jack's continually questioning look. "Well, if you're willing to spend one night in his bed in exchange for the scroll, you are more than welcome to." A sly grin crossed the sailor's features. "Come to think of it, he seems to prefer you more than he did me…"

"I'll prefer to keep that option in mind…"

A feminine shriek cut their discussion short. Bootstrap immediately slammed a hand to his forehead in a gesture of pained exasperation. "Oh, please God don't tell me he's run out of rouge again…"

* * *

**AN:** I humbly apologise for the slow update AND the painfully complex name of Flavio's alias. I'll be referring to him as a 'he' AND 'she', for future references… What's your opinion of him, folks? Be honest to the point of cruelty here…

**zareen:** Well… not really. The whole pearls growing on trees thing was there because it was funny, and because it showed Bill's mental instability. It's not actually important to the actual storyline, but I think I might just make it crop up now and again…

**VagrantCandy:** Hey, that's OK; it'll be too much to expect a person to follow EVERY update… Just review them all, and that will be fine. As to the whole drag queen thing, your question should already have been answered…

**Jess:** He's here, he's wigged, he's gay, and I've already told you how he got the box and scroll in the first place, but you find out later on anyway… As to why I don't mention it straight away… Two words: Plot. Intrigue. So shh, don't tell anyone…


	4. Drag Queen In Distress

﻿ 

The Scroll Of Kesmehet

Chapter Three: Drag Queen In Distress

The next week of sailing that followed was undoubtedly the most disturbing Jack had ever endured in his entire life, and it was all due to one simple fact that, if erased, would have made the cruise quite an enjoyable one: _Flavio was attracted to him._ He couldn't exactly blame the Italian, of course—he was, after all, only human—but must the pirate be so—_brazen_ in his doings? Take only yesterday morning, for example, when Flavio had somehow gotten himself tangled in the rigging:

"Jack! Jaaaack!" The pleading summon was a cross between a female's scream and a squirrel's mating call (if squirrels had such rituals). It made Jack's skin crawl, and he looked desperately around the deck to see if anyone else would answer the deluded pirate's call. But the name "Jack", you see, so common a forename, so frequent in the names of the most notorious of piratical personages, seen so often in gambling dens; the name "Jack" was, in spite of all of the aforementioned arguments, was very, very rare on the _Black Pearl_.

He knew he should have chosen "James Sparrow" as his pseudonym, but _no_; out of all the traditions, all the clichés, all the conventions Jack could have picked, he just _had_ to choose the name, didn't he? Everything else about him certainly wasn't necessarily piratical. Or stereotypical, for that matter…

"_Jack!_" The beginnings of a hysterical sob were slowly manifesting itself in the painted pirate's beseeching tone. "Jack, I'm _stuck!_"

It was my crew's fault, really, Jack consoled himself, refusing to acknowledge how the Italian sailor was now twisting himself so he was partly free and partly hanging upside down with a hand pressing the all-important hat and wig to his skull. _They should have chosen to call themselves "Jack" so that I'm not the only one…_

"Help me, Jack!"

"Um, Jack?" Bill questioned, having now finished his unnecessarily complex knot and standing beside his captain at the tiller. He pointed towards the cause of such disturbance hesitantly.

"Jackie!" The captain visibly winced.

Bootstrap raised an eyebrow. "I think you should go to him—"

"NO!" Sparrow protested quickly. "No, it's perfectly all right…"

"_Jackie!_"

Bootstrap surveyed the amused glances shot in his companion's general direction with disinterest. "Are you sure you don't—"

"I'm good here, thanks."

"Jackie! Jack! Jackie!" If Flavio had actually been the beautiful attractive woman he _thought_ he was, Jack wouldn't have minded the screaming out of his name _quite_ so much…

"Jackia!" As it was, he wasn't—Jackia? _That_ was a new one…

Frowning, the tanned brunet that was currently the centre of Flavio's latest fantasies turned to face his elder, a confused frown lighting his features. "Did he just call me 'Jackia'?"

"Aye, my son; I believe he did," Bill nodded solemnly. Then, struck with a sudden, most brilliant of brainwaves: "But if you're not sure, you can always go up and ask—"

"Bootstrap, I am not about to go climbing up the rigging and risk adding to the rumours about me currently circulating the crew—"

"What rumours?"

"_Those_ rumours," Jack confided cautiously, nodding his head knowingly in a confidential manner. At Bill's furrowed brows, he chivalrously clarified the matter for him. "You know; _those_ rumours…"

"_Jaaackiiiaaaa!_"

Turner shook his head, completely at a loss.

"_Those_ rumours? _You know…_"

"Not really," Turner the elder confessed.

"_Jaaaaack!_"

"_The_ rumours…?"

"Sparrow, who on earth would be so pathetic as to invent rumours about _you_, of all potential candidates? Now, for the absolutely last time, _what_ rumours?"

"Oh, come now, Bill, you know _those_ rumours I'm talking about… You do, don't you?"

"_Jackie!_"

"No, Sparrow, I must confess I _don't,_" Bootstrap broke gently to him.

If Jack hadn't possessed as much dignity as he did, he would have fallen to the tainted wooden deck in shock. "You _don't_ know! How can you _not_ know?"

"…Jackie-kins?" Evidently, Flavio was now trying another approach. "Jack!"

"Well, I'm very sorry to tell you this, my comb-lacking friend—" Jack's free hand immediately went to defensively caress the insulted locks, a hurt, offended expression on his features "—but I've better things to do than follow the completely inaccurate and most likely fabricated tales of you and your latest endeavours."

"_Jack!_"

"Those rumours that have started since Flavio came aboard," Jack reluctantly divulged, looking Bill meaningfully in the eye. "About me. And him. And me… And… and men in general…"

"Oh," Bill digested, exhaling in relief. "_Those._ Fear not, my paranoid friend; they've been going on for as long as I can remember."

"_What!_"

"It's a fact," Bill confirmed. "Really, it's more about _you_ as a person than it is about the company that you keep; you just naturally give off that impression, my friend…"

Jack just gaped at his friend in shock. "So you _did_ know?" he asked, sounding hurt.

"_Everybody_ knows, Jack; they've discussed you quite a few times in Turkey…"

"Jack, _please!_"

"So you may as well go and save him, then," Bill encouraged, prying Sparrow's long fingers from the wheel and gripping the spokes in his place. "It won't damage your already… _tainted_ reputation, sir."

"But—"

"Jack, I'm dying!"

"Do you hear that?" Bill accused. "Flavio's dying because of you!"

"But—But—But—But I don't _want to!_" Jack whined, sounding incredibly like a pampered five-year-old.

"Yes, and I wasn't particularly fond of squeezing myself into a corset either, but I did so for you, didn't I?"

"…Are you _ever_ going to let that go?"

"No," Bill firmly rejected. "Now go rescue your fair damsel in distress, Sparrow."

With a dark scowl and a slow reluctance not even a snail could match, Jack relented, before suddenly turning back to face his companion wide-eyed, shaking his head violently.

"I can't climb up the rigging!" he exclaimed.

Bootstrap merely rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Why, have you forgotten how?"

"Of course not!" Jack responded sharply. "But I can't climb up it!"

"Why the bloody hell not?"

"Because my arse will be on display for the whole ship to see, that's bloody why!"

Bootstrap raised one dark eyebrow, tilting his head suspiciously to the side. "I had no idea you had such serious body-conscious issues. Your point being…?"

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, my dear friend from beyond the grave, there are certain… _individuals,_ shall we say, on the ship, who… swing my way…"

"There's only _one_ individual on this whole boat who's even remotely attracted to you, Jack, and he's currently caught in the rigging, _awaiting_ your assistance."

"All the more reason for him to stay there, don't you find?"

"_Jack…_"

"Fine… I'll go and save the life of that poor deluded sodomite…"

"Good boy," Bill commended approvingly.

Flavio offered Jack a sheepish smile when the conned captain was finally face to face with the Italian pirate. "Thank God you came, _mio amore…_"

"That's it," Jack muttered, immediately starting back down. A hand instantly fisted his shirt, prohibiting him from moving further. "Oh, bollocks…"

"Don't leave me here!" Flavio begged, trembling precariously. "I'm too young to die!"

"Flavio, you're not going to die…" Jack soothed.

"Is it true that you see a white light before you die?" he continued hysterically.

"How the hell would I know!"

"Jack, I'm seeing a blindingly bright circle of white light _right now!_"

The pirate turned his head to follow Flavio's gaze, and immediately winced, snapping his eyes firmly shut. "It's called the sun, Flavio…"

"Help me!" And with that, Flavio had swiftly disentangled himself from the ropes and wrapped his limbs around Jack, burying his face in the pirate's shoulder.

"I _knew_ this was a trap!"

"Jackie, I'm scared… Hold me?"

"HELL NO!" And with this one last exclamation, Jack pushed the bluffing pirate away from him. And he would have succeeded, had he remembered that Flavio's legs were wrapped firmly around his own body, causing the trapped captain's sword and compass to dig painfully into his leg and hip as a result of the instinctive push.

"Well, I'm not sure about you, _mio bello capitano_, but _I'm_ feeling extremely comfortable…" Flavio whispered mischievously, blue eyes sparkling in amusement. "We should make this a regular occurrence…"

"Get your legs off of me, you delusional—"

"Be very careful about your choice of wording here, Sparrow," Flavio warned, the playful tone immediately evanescing. "In case you don't remember, _I_ am the one that has the upper hand in this situation: I've the scroll, and I've the mythology associated with the treasure we're all so desperately seeking hammered into my memory, you see?"

"Do you have the scroll with you right now?" Jack asked innocently, a cunning plan beginning to formulate within his mind.

"Of course; I carry it with me always—it wouldn't do if I just left the pretty thing in my cabin for just _anybody_ to come in and steal, now, would it?"

"So you have it with you right now?"

"What do you think is digging into your stomach at this very moment in time, Jackie? Or did you really think I was _that_ glad to see you?"

"…Um…"

Flavio dropped his demi-threat immediately, tilting his head the better to implore Jack's compassion. "Can you please carry me down?" he asked in a tone that sounded disturbingly like that of a manipulative wench's. And, alarmingly enough, Jack found that it had much the same effect.

That didn't bode well…

"No! Get off me!"

"Please?"

"Flavio, I'm warning you—"

"But I'll be oh so _very_ grateful…"

"No!"

And so it continued, until eventually, after a half-hour or so of bickering, (during the course of which Flavio was almost reduced to the brink of tears no less than seventeen times) Bootstrap, at long last growing bored of the show, handed the wheel to Anamaria, climbed up the ropes, hooked an arm around Flavio's waist, slung him easily over his shoulder, and climbed back down again. Flavio, quite understandably, threw himself at Bill in a warm embrace as soon as both returned to the relative safety of the deck with declarations of eternal gratitude whilst pouting in Jack's general direction.

"_You—_" And with one stinging slap that was so powerful it caused Jack's very own beads to smack him in the face, Flavio had spun on his heel and theatrically stamped down the stairs into his cabin, bleating in shrill Italian—or something that sounded remarkably like it.

"Bootstrap, _why?_" Jack whined, palm gingerly rubbing the twice-abused cheek.

"…Because we want treasure?" Bill tried in a small voice, sheepishly avoiding his gaze.

"No, I meant _why?_ Why _me?_ What makes him think he'll have a chance with me?"

Bootstrap looked from Jack's kohl-rimmed eyes to his pink-tinged sash to his pouting lips whilst images of Jack's womanly swagger flashed across his vision. "I've no idea how you give off that impression," he lied. And he swiftly left a confused-looking Jack in order to participate in a nautical conversation with Gibbs, _not_ because he wished to avoid any awkward questions concerning Jack's sexuality. No, not at all; on the contrary, Bootstrap had always harboured an interest in… fraying ropes.

Sad but true.

And ever since the incident concerning the Italian's entanglement of the rigging of only yesterday morn, Jack had been… well, distracted, to say the least. Needless to say, the practically molested pirate captain was living in constant fear of rape, (he was actually taking care to _not_ exceed the recommended amount of rum, for once) and was counting the seconds until their arrival at Port Royal.

…He hoped a certain pretty blacksmith would provide some distraction from his undeniably heavenly features…

* * *

**VagrantCandy:** I really don't know… Fear of offending anyone by using a real name? It was meant to be… humourous…

**Jess:** I have already answered your query. You are a terrible beta-reader but an excellent musey… Don't bother pouting, I haven't even said corset yet; besides, it's a sad but true fact of life, Jessie… 

**zareen:** I loved the cat part; I think it was actually part of a quote I twisted for my own twisted ends, but I don't know who… Is Flavio quirkier in this chapter? I love that guy, I'm so glad I invented him…


	5. The Importance Of First Impersonations

﻿ 

The Scroll Of Kesmehet

Chapter Four: The Importance Of First Impersonations

"Oooh, look at all of those soldiers in their red coats and _tight_ breeches," Flavio gushed admiringly, pausing yet again to watch a particularly strapping young blond march pass him. His face visibly fell when the lad paid him no attention, and he scuttled closer to Jack, intertwining his hand with the _bello_ captain's.

Or trying to, anyway.

"How many times must I say it! I. Do. Not. Hold. Hands. With. Men."

"But I'm a woman," Flavio protested.

"Or women either." The pirate paused, shuddering at a rather unpleasant memory concerning a member of the fairer sex and baby names. Not a particular experience he wished to repeat any time soon. "Especially not women."

"So it's more likely you'll hold my hand if I told you I was a lad, yes?"

"No. I just don't hold hands—ever. I'm very proud of my hands," he prattled on, oblivious as to what he was actually saying. "I don't want them to get… contaminated."

"They're very pretty," Flavio agreed, taking the opportunity to grab the unsuspecting male's wrist and lifting the discussed appendage for closer inspection, "but I wouldn't say they were _clean._ They're quite large as well, actually—"

"We are _not_ going there!"

"Oh, Jackia, don't play coy; I know you're harbouring deep, dark, _passionate_ feelings for me beneath that strong, well-muscled chest…"

It was true; Jack _did_ harbour deep, dark, _passionate_ feelings for Flavio beneath his undeniably strong and muscular chest: however, if he planned to act on them, he would require a very large kitchen knife, rat poison, and a very long, thick noose, for a start…

"Who _will_ you hold hands with?" Flavio continued to interrogate. "Give me a vague clue here; a hint, a suggestion, a tip…"

"Not you!" And with this irrefutable rejection, the half-molested pirate had wrenched his wrist away from the stunned Italian's grasp, purposefully quickening his pace down the crowded streets of Port Royal.

The Italian pirate paused, watching Jack continue his furious stride with a confused and injured expression written clearly across his features. "_Bill,_" he whined, looking at the Englishman with the pearl-tree fetish in befuddlement, "why is my Jackie being so cruel?"

This was the part that Bootstrap hated with a fiery passion that almost equalled that of the Pope's love for celibacy. Almost, but not quite. The religious leader was a eunuch, anyway. Jack had told him so.

"…He's not being cruel, Flavio," Bill drew attention to the barefaced reality with the resignation of a weary man and the infinite patience of a sage-cum-hermit, certain that the matter could not be debated any further.

However…

"But he just told me that he won't hold hands with me!" the younger pirate reasoned. "Why? Why? Why? _Why?_ Why would you lead someone on like that if you're not even going to _hold hands_ with her?"

The black-haired sailor immediately caught the misuse of English pronouns, knowing full well that such disregard was not born of limited linguistic knowledge; he was almost certain the pirate before him was a Londoner, in spite of his impressive Italian inflection and obvious mastery of that lovely idiom. "Flavio, we've been through this—"

"Is it 'cause I'm fat?"

The random enquiry threw Bill off balance completely. "Wha—? No, it's not because you're fat—"

"But I _am_ fat, is that what you're saying?"

"No! You're very slim—"

"Oh, so _now_ I'm a walking skeleton!"

"NO! You're fine," Bootstrap insisted, not even bothering to wonder how he'd gotten himself into a situation where he was consoling a sexually-confused Italian with a faint Londoner's accent on his body mass. "Your body is perfect."

"Oh, _really?_"

Uh oh…

Flavio drew back, looking up at Bill in a flirtatious manner that was quite disturbingly effective. "Exactly what are you trying to say, Bootie?"

Bill closed his eyes, reliving several months of mortifying sailing just because of that completely… illogical… pet name… "Flavio, your promise?"

"Remember yours?"

He did, but the day that Bootstrap Turner was to go underwear-shopping with a man was the day Jack Sparrow sought professional help for his rum addiction. Which, judging by the captain's drinking activities of the past week or so, was distressingly likely…

"Look, when I've paid off all those gambling debts—"

An unladylike snort cut through the flimsy excuse. "_What_ gambling debts? You just pick everybody's pockets, in any case… And since when do you actually _gamble,_ anyway?"

"I'll try to get Jack to take you," Bootstrap ducked desperately.

"That's what you always say," Flavio dismissed with a flick of his hand.

"No I don't! Flavio, you didn't even _know_ who Jack was until eight days ago!"

"Of course I did; he was that wonderfully flamboyant sodomite you and the Turkish guard were talking about in Turkey over a lovely glass of wine whilst I sat in misery in that rat-infested little cell—they ruined my favourite garters, I'll have you know." Ah yes; if only such circumstances persisted… The imprisonment, not the garters. "How _did_ you get out anyway? I was asleep when you made your successful little seduction. Any tips?"

"I _did not_ seduce the guard! How many times do I have to say this? I _bribed_ him with _false_ information."

"If such information involves teaching him how to unbutton your breeches, then yes, that is what you did," Flavio persisted. "And technically speaking, that information wasn't false—"

"Just because you enjoy chasing after naïve sailors with absolutely no sexual experience whatsoever doesn't mean that all men do—"

"Of course it doesn't," Flavio concurred, more than a tinge of exasperation in his voice. "How many times must I tell you idiotic but oh-so-very-pretty English sailors? I'm a _woman._"

"No you're not!"

"Yes I am!"

"You're not!"

"…But I could be. There's a fifty percent chance I was born female and decided to impersonate a man impersonating a woman, you know."

Bootstrap paused for a fraction of a fraction of a second, calculating the possibility. "Well… Not really. Who on earth would spend so much energy conducting an elaborate scheme like that?"

"Me!" Flavio exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet in enthusiasm.

"No you wouldn't; if you _were_ a woman, you'll simply be impersonating a man," Bootstrap reasoned.

"Oh, you are _useless,_" Flavio snapped in disgust, quickening his pace so as to catch up with Jack. Bill followed.

"Fine, fine—alright!" Bill allowed, grabbing the younger sailor's elbow as he stalked alongside the unlikely couple. "Say you _are_ a woman. Prove it."

Flavio's eyes snapped from Jack's uncomfortable expression to Bill's. "What?"

"Take your shirt off."

A sudden slap quickly dispelled any illusions Bill may have harboured of Flavio's agreement to his suggestion. Thank the heavens; perhaps there was some divine spiritual entity up there after all…

"See!" he yelled as Flavio stormed off with a reluctant Jack Sparrow in tow attempting to wrench his wrist from the walking mantrap. "If you _were_ a woman, you'll take your shirt off without any hesitation!" Jack halted his desperate attempts of liberating his wrist from his prison to give Bill a dubious stare at this utterly fallacious statement.

"You've had plenty of chances to see me without my shirt, Turner," Flavio called back. "It's your own fault you didn't take advantage of them!"

Unable to resist such an obvious jibe, Captain Jack contributed to the heated discussion for the first time. "Can you really blame him?"

The third slap of their acquaintance made its long-overdue appearance, and Flavio immediately stormed back to Bill, leaning his black-wigged head against his shoulder affectionately.

Well, his mood swings were that of a woman's. Bill would admit that much.

"I stand by my belief that you're a man impersonating a woman—or trying to, anyway…"

"_Trying_ to? _Trying to!_" Flavio drew back to look up at the male that was also on the Italian's seduction hit list. "Oh Bootie, if I hadn't had _told_ you I was a man, you'll _still_ be trying to bed me, you know."

"…I thought you promised never to mention _that_ again? And I wasn't trying to bed you, Flavio—"

"Ah, yes, I forgot." The voice had taken a tone that was half-sympathetic, half-contemptuous, wholly offended. "You're _incapable._"

"I _used_ to be!" Bootstrap corrected hastily. "It was the curse—"

"Oh, the _curse,_" Flavio dismissed with a wave of his hand. "That's what all the eunuchs say. And believe me when I say that I knew _a lot_ of eunuchs, Bootie."

"…I was never _incapable,_ as such," Bootstrap continued in a small voice, looking down at his scuffling but immaculate footwear from which he earned his pseudonym. "There just wasn't any point…"

"I'll have you know I'm a fireball in bed," Flavio informed him. "And very professional—just ask my father. And trust me; believe me when I say I've had _a lot_ of practice…"

"Now that's _certain_ proof you're a man," Bootstrap seized. "Women are a lot more modest about their… virtue."

"Clearly _you've_ never set foot inside a harem," the Italian pointed out with a hint of triumph in his voice, finger raised as an indication of emphasis that was a slight mimic of Jack's own flamboyant gesticulations. On certain levels, the two really were quite alike.

"Neither have you," Bill reminded.

Flavio opened his scowling mouth, closing it immediately as his golden eyebrows furrowed in thought. "…You're right; Arabellinasotema di Calatanissetta of Venice has _never_ set foot in a harem in her life," Flavio concurred, tossing his false hair. "It's not a place befitting a gentlewoman."

"How many times do I have to tell you, you are not the granddaughter of the Grand Duke of Venice!"

"But I could be," Flavio insisted unwaveringly.

"But you're not!"

"But I could be; there's a very high chance that I'm a Venetian noblewoman impersonating a female pirate impersonating a man impersonating a woman—"

"No, there really isn't!"

"Says the man who's rewritten the laws of nature just so he can claim pearls grow on trees—"

"Pearls _did_ grow on trees!" Turner insisted. Flavio rolled his eyes, blowing a stray of false ebony out of his eyes in exasperation. "Well, they did! …Didn't they?"

Flavio shrugged his slight shoulders. "That's what I saw in that trance, all right," he agreed. "But that doesn't automatically mean you can prance around telling French merchants to stop farming oysters, Bootie! They're absolutely delicious!"

"I was trying to save their profits!" Bill justified. "I used to work alongside the captain on a slave ship… Funny story, really, involving a one-eyed, wooden-legged prostitute and a pineapple…" His tanned hand slammed to Flavio's parting lips in anticipation. "And no, that is _not_ code for any form of rape or seduction that your disturbed mind conjures up."

"Of course not," Flavio suggested in a tone that clearly indicated his disbelief. "Oh, Bootie—don't pout at me, it's a lovely name—and the potential for debauched innuendos is unequalled—"

Bootstrap could feel the same stress, frustration, and exasperation that Jack was undoubtedly suffering from rise up within him. Of, course he'd suffered the same hardships that Jack was currently forced to endure when he'd first encountered Flavio, and he hadn't felt any the worse for it. Unshakeable belief in pearl-trees aside, of course—there was always a slight mental side effect, but with Jack, Bill was certain there was no potential for a great loss as far as _that_ aspect was concerned. "How many times must I tell you to drop it?"

"And how many times must I tell you I need silk corsets?" Flavio pandered back.

"There's no such thing!"

"Of course there is—it's a basic stay made of the same basic materials with whalebone lining the inside—a completely normal corset with silk covering it, actually. And I _want_ one—all my silk stockings just look _wrong_ with leather—"

"Flavio, _nothing_ will change the fact that you just look wrong in female undergarments."

"And how would you know? You've never given me the chance to model for you…"

The pirates' discussion faded in and out of Jack's hearing as they both continued to shadow the captain, and he found himself wondering how on God's green earth the pair had attracted absolutely no attention whatsoever in a town as bustling Port Royal. Especially on market day. And he was almost certain that their debate wasn't exactly common…

Ah, Port Royal. Lovely little city, really, with a lively mixture of trades and personalities that made the port town an interesting fusion of wealth and poverty, propriety and depravity, respectability and scandal… Of course, there was that little matter of that ponce Norrington prancing around in his little wig with his little sword and little medals and his gigantic warships; but really, what could a man do? And truthfully, Jack wouldn't even be visiting the town that had tried twice to hang him if it hadn't been for Bootstrap's insistence that he and his son reunite.

"No, I will _not_ model the latest range of women's drawers for you! And I don't care if _every_ man does it!"

"You're so very much a sodomite, you know that? A _heterosexual_ man would jump into a female's drawers without hesitation—"

"Not this one!"

Jack leaned against the wall outside of Mr J. Brown's (or so the sign claimed) quaint little shop in exasperation. To be frank, Jack would have been less likely to agree to this little detour had it not been for the fact that he was harbouring a hope—however slim it may be—that the blacksmith just the other side of the door would be sufficiently pretty enough to provide distraction for… some people…

"_Mio bello_ Jackia, my only love, my darling, my angel, my only reason for living—"

…It was a very slim hope…

* * *

**AN:** I just found out today that it's really not that hard to get men into dresses—you leave a pile of clothing in front of them with the script of a German woman shopping and they jump right in with oranges for cleavage. I'm not kidding…

-anapants-: "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" huh? Wow, I've actually heard of that—haven't seen it, but you know… I kind of grew up knowing about drag queens—I lived in Thailand until I was five and kept visiting ever since, and all of their cabarets and tourist attractions are FULL of them. We call them "lady-boys" and laugh because they all look like BEAUTIFUL women. Prettier than the Thai girls who ARE women, actually… it's quite disturbing… That's really how I got the idea for Flavio's character…

VagrantCandy: I'm glad you thought so too. It was really all Jack's own fault; if he actually walked as though he was a sober man, he wouldn't have had to worry about the rumour mill working over time to his disadvantage…

Jess: It's true, and you know it, child. Now, when you review to insult and/or argue with me, I'll like you to actually COMMENT on the chapter. And Flavio. Especially Flavio. Thank you. Corset!


	6. Lonely Hats

**The Scroll Of Kesmehet**

_Chapter Five: Lonely Hats_

William Turner had always considered himself to be an upstanding gentleman—in manner, if not in name. He was also considered by some to be, for want of a better word, conventional. In _all_ senses of the word. Tall, with dark hair and eyes, he was conventionally handsome. Years of daily three-hour fencing had turned him into a conventionally skilled swordsman. A warm heart, pure as a newborn lamb's, untainted and true, marked him as being a conventional paragon of virtue—a knight of justice, as it were.

Plus, he was extremely popular with the ladies. With everything aforementioned combined, if Will was anymore conventional, he would have been the star of many a garish romance novel. And, true to tradition, he never took advantage of this last fact, as a matter of honour. Some people called it noble, respectful, admirable.

Most individuals he encountered, however, thought otherwise: one of them, a fey pirate that pranced around as though preparing for a change of gender, had dismissed it as a side-effect of castration.

Another, a dark-haired girl of middleclass that believed herself a decent (romance) novelist and therefore shunned the light of day had, on one of her rare ventures out of her abode, told her two companions, a vampiric brunette and a taciturn redhead: "And that's William Turner, the local blacksmith. He's preparing for monkhood." At which the vampiric brunette showered him with evidence that Jesus Christ was not the true messiah, conjuring a Bible the better to point out the irrational and somewhat conflicting passages, told him he had no soul to worry about saving or damning in the first place, and then launched into a long explanation as to how a person can never truly die to begin with.

He'd never set foot in a church since.

But in spite of his lack of religious fervour (which had earned many a frown from the Governor), young William's sense of morality was high, complimenting his earnest sense of decorum. A conventional hero. Many adored him (to point out that the vast majority were impressionable and hormonal young girls only added to his supposedly nonexistent ego); an almost equal amount paid him no mind at all; and some, (the majority of which were ugly virginal males) were in on a giant conspiracy to have him murdered. (BtB—Burn the Blacksmith. A James Norrington was rumoured to be the chairman…)

But, like the fabled Achilles and his heel-exposing footwear, Will had a weakness (good news for the BtB). To be perfectly honest, he had several weaknesses, but there was always one that got to him more than any other. He had… a fear, a phobia, a wily arch-nemesis which he'd thought he'd left far behind in England.

It was a wild animal, untamed, full of bloodlust, driven by an insatiable hunger; a monstrous beast with gargantuan teeth and gratuitously large ears, fur covering its entire body.

And no, it wasn't his mother's cousin's aunt-by-marriage Maude, although that in itself was enough to send him running to the hills, presumably with a tail between his legs (he _was not_ a eunuch, after all).

Two fathomless black eyes regarded the petrified blacksmith in hunger as he cowered in the rafters, a carrot clenched firmly in his fist; in his terror-driven haste, Will had accidentally grabbed the vegetable that was to be a part Mr Brown's supper instead of one of the many swords. Clearly, conventional heroes only had brains when the time came to save the world. Otherwise, they just went about their daily business with a thousand drooling followers at their heels.

His eyes turned to the door as it creaked open and three piratical figures entered, only one of which was familiar. A handsome man, somewhere in his late forties, regarded the neat space before him with observant, intelligent eyes, whilst the beautiful woman on his arm—who was, for some reason, wearing what looked like one of the Governor's old ebony wigs—did likewise. Jack Sparrow surveyed the scene once with a bored expression, sashaying over to the desk and picking up various fruits and vegetables that were the result of Will's trip to the greengrocer's—_and walked right pass **it.**_

__

It had scurried under the table at the first hint of intruders, and was now lost to Will's vision—although whether that was a blessing or a curse was debatable. Anyhow, the point is that Will was now free to survey the following occurrence without _it_ at the forefront of his mind.

Even though she was hanging quite happily off of the stranger's arm, the woman—ivory- skinned and amethyst-eyed, with other facial features that were quite attractive—had taken the opportunity to survey the captain's, um, assets, (for conventional heroes and knights of justice do not say the word "arse") released the unnamed man's arm, stepped back, and let her gaze drift down, obviously making a comparison. She shrugged, latching back onto his forearm and leaning her head against his shoulder affectionately.

"Yeah, you'll do," she said in a high and nasal voice that was inflected with an accent Will had never heard before, having spent his entire life in English-speaking communities. "You're older; you've a decent excuse."

The man, quite understandably, threw her off. "Go run along and rape Jack, you pitiable excuse of a man," he ordered, although his hands quickly disappeared behind his back, as though to check that everything there was all well and good and in decent order. He sighed in relief; the woman, meanwhile, had stumbled hurriedly backwards, keen not to miss the show, and pouting when she realized that she had.

"Can you do that again?" she asked, her expression hopeful.

"No."

"Can I?"

"_No!_"

"Now you know how it feels, don't you?" Jack asked gleefully. "The reason why I've taken to walking sideways—" But he was cut short by the wanton woman before him, who had turned to the unnamed man in the little group of three, hands indignantly on her hips as she glared at the man that had refused to allow her to grope him.

"The reason I'm such a pitiable excuse of a man is because I'm a _woman_—"

A disbelieving snort escaped from the pirate captain as he ingested a bunch of very expensive grapes, whilst the man she was addressing exclaimed, "Flavio, we've been through this—I'm certain if you look in your breeches you'll get a very big surprise!"

"Or little, as the case may be," Jack put in.

"Because I _am_ a woman," Flavio continued, unfazed, "and you are both in denial of the fact as I am currently giving no indication as to who, out of the two of you, is the captor of my heart—"

"Captor of your _groin,_ more like," Jack put in.

Flavio gasped in shock, hand at her—or was it his?—heart. "You Englishmen are all so very crude," she informed them dramatically. "Why, in the Court of Venice—" Ah, so _that_ was the accent…

"You are not the granddaughter of the Grand Duke of Venice!" Jack and the other man snapped. Will supposed that this must be true. "You're not even female!"

"But I _am,_" Flavio whined, and Will was inclined to believe her; she did look like one, after all… Wig aside, of course. "I'm the only granddaughter of the Grand Duke of Venice currently disguised as a female commoner embarking on life as a pirate—who is, coincidentally enough, forced to pretend to be a man just to set foot on a ship, but is too beautiful to be taken as male, and so is now living life as thus: a Venetian noblewoman impersonating a commoner impersonating a pirate impersonating a man impersonating a woman!"

She paused, panting for breath. "…Do you understand?"

"…That's too elaborate to be the truth," Jack reasoned after a very long pause, still chewing his grapes. "And if it were so, why did you go to so much trouble only to tell me everything within a week after meeting me?" Clearly, his logic could not be beaten…

…Or _could_ it?

"Because I've fallen madly, passionately in love with you and can't bear to hide the truth from my sweetheart," she said sweetly, advancing swiftly towards Jack and grabbing the lapels of his coat as her gaze desperately searched his. "Oh, hold me ransom and return me to my estranged grandparent, if your lust for gold is stronger than your love for me! Strip me naked and tie me to your bed, if you must! (Jack really didn't want to explore _that_ particular alleyway anytime soon.) As long as you're happy—oh, Jackia (he visibly winced. "It's bloody _Jack!_")—I'll do anything to make you happy!"

"Feel free to start by calling me by my correct name and title, then! And stop insinuating sexual situations!" That was something Will had never thought he'll hear Jack Sparrow say to a woman. Assuming Flavio was of that gender, of course.

"I'll go to the very depths of hell if it pleases you, Jackie," Flavio continued, his—or her, Will really wasn't too certain—captain's correction going unheeded.

"Then please do so."

"Jack, please God tell me _that's_ not my son," the unnamed man spoke up suddenly, staring at the possibly deceased figure of Mr Brown.

Both Jack and Flavio froze, slowly turning to look at the grubby man seated beside them.

"Oh my," Flavio exclaimed, drawing closer to Jack, who in turn was trying to push her as far away as was humanly possible. "Bootie, was your wife a hideous hag? He _must_ have taken from her!"

Will, in his shock at the discovery of his father, dropped the carrot. All three of them stared at the vegetable for a moment, then slowly looked up to see which latest religious fanatic had died and had been appointed as the patron saint of greengrocers. Flavio made a sound of approval, craning her neck so that (to his infinite horror) she could get a better view of Will's breeches. She frowned, dropping back onto her heels, and noted in a stage whisper that sounded oddly like it belonged in a doctor's operating theatre, "There's a very high possibility that the younger Turner is a eunuch; I've yet to discern any visible shapes that prove otherwise."

"I second that notion," Jack agreed, eyebrows raised. "What the blazes are you doing up there, lad?"

"And with a _carrot,_ of all things, son?" Bootstrap interrogated.

Flavio answered immediately: "Isn't it obvious? Clearly, he didn't wish to be disturbed, Jackia; the carrot, Bootie, is for—"

"No, it isn't!" Will yelped, the last syllable turning into a surprisingly feminine screech—for that was when _it,_ the monster under the table, crawled out.

Flavio let out a shriek of surprise, before her—or his—sapphire eyes softened as she looked affectionately at the creature attacking the poor carrot. God, Will felt so sorry for the carrot…

"Oh, it's so adorable!" she exclaimed, and with one swift dive had the beast tucked into the crook of his—her (this was so very confusing)—arm, stroking the beige fur of its back and tickling the black ears. "I didn't know they had these here—I think I'll keep it and name him Baldrick." She nestled her cheek against its head affectionately, cooing over the animal that had haunted Will's nightmares since the age of five.

"That's all very well and good, Flavio, but the rabbit might be Will's," Jack intervened.

"No!" he exclaimed, clinging onto the wooden beam tighter still now that _it_ was out in the open. "That's a stray rabbit! It doesn't belong to anyone! Madam…" Well, she was older than he by at least five years… Assuming she _was_ a "she" and not a "he"… "I fully permit you to keep the demon—I mean, the rabbit."

Flavio smiled radiantly up at him. "You're so sweet!" he exclaimed. "Come down here so I can give you a kiss…" he added in a blatantly suggestive manner that made Bootstrap's hand automatically reach for his sword. That was his _son_ Flavio was talking to! Jack was fine—he never liked him much, anyway—but Will? _His_ boy? His own flesh and blood? …Alright, so he seemed to be a cowardly pansy who lived in constant fear of rabbits, but family was family…

"I think not." The foursome turned to the source of the female voice, eyes falling upon a classical and angelic beauty. The new woman wore a beautiful gown of pale lilac and silver; within her hands was a lace-trimmed parasol, whilst an elegant bonnet adorned her beautifully coiffed hair.

Flavio let out a low whistle, his eyes lingering on Elizabeth's bodice. "I'll bet _you're_ wearing a silk corset," he sighed, shooting Bootstrap a pointed look.

"What?" she asked, caught off guard at the random enquiry. "Well, yes, but I don't see how—"

"See, Bootie! _Everybody_ has it!" Flavio snapped, whilst Elizabeth's brown eyes widened further still as she surveyed the scene she'd walked into in astonishment.

"Will, what on earth are you doing in the rafters?"

"That may be the case, but they're all women!" Bootstrap snapped, ignoring Elizabeth's query completely.

Flavio's eyes widened as though he had just discovered a life-altering truth. "_Mi Dio,_ that's it!" And without further ado he grabbed the shocked Elizabeth's free hand whilst the rabbit named Baldrick remained firmly under his other arm.

"Excuse me, Miss, but might I ask what—"

"We're going shopping!" Flavio interjected, giving the young woman a sly look. "You're rich; I'm beautiful." The three remaining men had to agree with this last statement, much as it pained them to do so; it says something about a man when he calls another male "beautiful"…

"Will!" Elizabeth yelped, unnerved at the strange, overly friendly pirate currently manhandling her, "What in God's name is going on?"

"I do believe you're going shopping," Jack answered, unable to hide his glee at finding a distraction for the Italian in this little port town.

"But I didn't—who _are_ you, to handle the governor's daughter in such a disrespectful manner?"

"You're a woman; so am I." Flavio justified, ignoring all interruptions. Both blondes—for that was the colour of Flavio's eyebrows, a deep gold—ignored the protests from the two remaining pirates that threw this last statement into a shadow of doubt, slamming the door shut. The sound of carriage wheels could be heard moments later, confirming the Italian's kidnapping of the governor's daughter.

"…All right…" Will uttered once he was certain the rabbit wasn't in any position to rip his neck out. Very awkwardly, he climbed down, aware that two sets of eyes were upon him and his burning, both testament to this degrading humiliation. "Will Elizabeth be alright with that… person?" he immediately attacked: the first of many queries.

"What's going on? Who are you? Are you really Mr Brown's father, you look a little young—Jack, you _still_ have that hair?"

Jack's hand once again reached up to comfort the insulted locks. "What is it you Turners have against the hair? The hair is fine! The hair is good! It might not be perfect, but it serves its purpose, alright? So leave the hair alone! It may not be perfect, but then again, what hair is?" There was a pause. "Are we actually having this conversation?"

Bill patted his distressed friend comfortingly on the back. "It's fine Jack, don't you worry about it," he soothed. "We all have the occasional bad hair day—"

"That's perfectly alright for you to say!" Jack exploded. "You're not the one that has to endure stares and whispers wherever you go just because you can't afford regular trips to the hairdresser!"

"Believe me, Jack," Bootstrap said grimly, completely forgetting about his stupefied son for the moment as he continued to comfort his troubled friend, "that's not why they stare at you; the reason why most men stare at you is because they've visited a few choice brothels that you happened to be in the employment of—"

"_Bill_…"

"Sorry, sorry, so very, very sorry," Bootstrap skirted, leading the distraught captain towards the door. "But it's just hard to forget the numerous times you've been forced into whalebone corsets by a man you've known for less than a year—"

"Bootstrap! You do realize that—"

"I can't help it, Jack!" Bill cried, hands raised in despair. "It's just that whenever I'm with you, I always get squeezed into a corset _at least_ every other time we dock!"

"Bill…"

"Why _do_ you enjoy pretending to whore yourself so much, anyway?" Bootstrap continued. "And by God, the names you come up with! Anna-Flora! Viennetta! Petronella! Is it really any wonder you're the subject of so many unsavoury tales?"

"Bill!" Jack exclaimed with a slap to the man's cheek.

"What?"

"Don't you think we've forgotten something?"

"What do you, we've forgotten something? Flavio's stolen a rabbit and kidnapped that noblewoman, what else did we bring? And that really is a terrible attempt at changing the subject, Jack; really, I thought you, of all people, would be able to—"

"Bill," Jack sighed tiredly, hand resting on the man's shoulder. "Why did we come here?"

"Clearly, to find a mythical treasure hoard," Bootstrap replied, confused.

"_And_…?"

"…And to murder Flavio whilst making it appear to be a very painful accident?"

"Well, yes, but there's a certain young man, who happens to be a _son_…" He trailed off, looking hopefully up at the elder man.

"What does the weather have to do with this? There's only one sun, and it is not, as far as am aware, a young ma—shit!"

"Exactly," Jack nodded. "We are here to kidnap _your_ son, at _your_ request, remember?"

"Of course I remember!" he lied. "I was merely… distracted…" An awkward pause descended upon the two men standing under the sign that proclaimed the little shop to be under the management of a Mr J Brown. "So, what do we do now?"

"Well," Jack measured his words carefully, "I s'pose it'll be best if you go back in there and have a long heart to heart with the eunu—the young blacksmith with a questionable amount of testicles—not that I would know!" he added swiftly.

"Of course," Bill agreed whilst wondering if Jack had raped his only child. "And you, lad?"

"Well, naturally, I'll take the opportunity to do the usual, manly, responsible, piratical things that I do in ports."

"I saw a sign near the docks that said a Mr Butcher styles hair of both genders for the price of a three-guinea whore."

"Oh, really? How much?"

"I assume it's three guineas," Bill shrugged.

"That's a bargain!" Sparrow exclaimed, before adding in a decidedly deeper tone, "And it certainly is not one of places I plan to go to do my usual manly, responsible, piratical things that I do in ports."

"And a Mr Foppish deals in hats just next door."

"What's wrong with my hat?"

"Nothing's wrong with your hat," Bill replied hastily.

"Well, why did you suggest I wanted a new one?"

"Because… I naturally assumed that your hat… would get lonely."

There was a pause in which Jack merely stared at the fellow pirate. "…You don't want my hat to get lonely?"

"A hat with a limited social life, Jack, is a terrible thing to behold."

"…Is it really, now?"

"Oh, yes," Bill confidently continued. "They get so used to being the only hat, they simply can't handle social situations which involve other hats. Very shy, unable to stand up for themselves, do you see? You don't want to leave a hat alone, nor deprive it of its friends."

More staring.

"I've written a book all about it; The Emotional Needs of Hats, Bonnets, And Various Other Head Gear."

"You've written a _book?_"

"Oh, yes; it was a bestseller, you know. Printed and distributed by Mad Hatters Publications."

"…Have you found my opium?"

"It was a _big_ hit with the milliners; I'm quite the celebrity amongst them, I'll have you know."

"Bootstrap, for all our sakes, please don't ever mention that you've published a book on the emotional needs of hats ever again. Now go and corrupt your son."

"Gladly," Turner answered cheerfully, starting towards the shop. He paused mid-stride, and swung back to face Jack. "Which one's my son?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, it's just that I've never met my son as a fully-grown adult before; I'm really not sure which of those two men is my son."

"How can you not be sure, when only one of them's within the correct age range?"

"Have you ever _seen_ the aging effects of tobacco before, Sparrow?"

Jack let out a groan of exasperation, hand on his temples. "He's the one that looks like you exactly like you."

"_Oh._" A beat. "What do I look like?"

"…You look like your son."

"Who looks like…?"

"A virginal eunuch, if you _must_ know."

"I look like a virginal eunuch?"

"No, but… Well… He's the one with the air of innocence and chastity and virginity and honour around him."

"I see."

"Good luck, Turner," Jack told his friend, and hurriedly darted through the crowd before he could be quizzed further on the physiognomy of virginal eunuchs.

Really, how did he come to be associated with these people? Sometimes he felt like the only sane man in the world. And he was certainly the most manly of them all. Well… certainly more mannish than Flavio? Of course! Where was Flavio at this very moment in time? Shopping for silk corsets with a kidnapped Elizabeth Swann. Jack would never go shopping for silk corsets. No, no, he was much too masculine for that.

That's why he was going to the hairdresser that charged as much as a three-guinea whore.

* * *

**AN:** Yup, Will has a bunny phobia, Flavio's still in denial, Bill's written a book on the emotional needs of hats, Norrington's the chairman of BtB, and Jack's taken to walking sideways. Now, the question is: what the hell can I do to Elizabeth? Any ideas? It's good to be back, and I'll try to update as soon as I can.

**VagrantCandy:** Flavio does know who he is, he's just in denial… There's actually a few serious issues in Flavio's past that's affected who he is today, and there's a few—how should I put it?—aspects of Flavio's character which I'm just dying to explore that really isn't all that fun… Well, it might be for him…

**Little Miss Anapants:** Cool little tweaking with the name, there. I'm glad that at least SOMEONE has my sense of humour; how was this little chapter? I think the beginning needs a little work, but I wanted to get this up ASAP, so I left it. How's your story going? I'll have to get round to reading it sometime…

**TigerTiger02:** I'm glad you like Flavio and my Bill, but I have the strangest feeling he won't be like this in the movie; isn't that a shame? And I think I've just discovered how to humiliate Will: bunnies! Now, how am I going to draw this into my other fic? I had this whole idea of Will being a religious fanatic—in a bad way; he makes the Pope look like the antichrist, do you think that would work, or should I just stick to the rabbit thing?

**zareen:** Thailand was great—I saw a transvestite cabaret, which should help with this story, once you think about it…

**Anne le Jordanie:** I've put a couple of links on my profile page for your benefit; the first one, IMDb, is pretty good, but don't take everything it says there literally… For example, an actress called Sammi Hanratty is said to play a character called Cora Sparrow, who doesn't actually exist in the script, which means: a) the IMDb staff doesn't bother to verify their info for movies, and b) Pearl is the only Sparrow offspring that actually matters! Sorry, had to get that out… That being said, the site's pretty good for films that have ALREADY been released, so it's a case of two things balancing out… is more reliable, so I recommend you go to that one first…  
Anyway; thanks for reading all of my stories. And just a little side note; Flavio isn't gay, he's actually bisexual, as Elizabeth finds out… He just acts really camp, because that's how he wants to act. One of my friends acts pretty camp, but he's perfectly straight… I think…


	7. The Lost Sacred Parabolic Fables Of Old…

****

The Scroll Of Kesmehet

__

Chapter Six: The Lost Sacred Parabolic Fables Of Olden Lore

"What do you mean, you don't make corsets _that_ size? Are you calling me fat? People are _always_ calling me fat!"

Elizabeth stood embarrassingly close to the suddenly hysterical pirate, caressing the small rabbit in her arms and wondering if it would start eating the lace of her dress. Self-consciously, she pulled a particularly delicate hem of laced edge away from the rabbit's wriggling black nose, wondering if she could drop the animal and run to the patiently waiting carriage outside the tiny little corsetry. But the notion was immediately dismissed; for how could Elizabeth even step out of the door if she did not have her shoes? She was wearing very expensive lilac stockings of flowered Chinese silk: she would _never_ risk ruining them. For if she did, her maid Estrella will certainly notice, and Estrella had always been one to gossip, and so the servants will be informed, and one of the servants was a butler, who was on close terms with her father's secretary, and then her father will approach her and frostily enquire as to why her stockings were ruined, and what the circumstances were that led to such a crime, and what could she say? She had been on thin ice ever since the events of last summer, when she'd distracted the Commodore Norrington in order to assist in Jack's escape, and now she was engaged to Will Turner, who not only was a lowly blacksmith, but also the same blacksmith that had assisted in the escape of the pirate Jack Sparrow, so she really—

"Why are you ignoring me?" The sudden whine of the corset-hunting pirate cut through Elizabeth's desperate thoughts of despair. "Lizzie Lizzie Lizzie _why?_" As if to accentuate the point, the strange character had taken to bouncing on the balls of her feet with every syllable, pouting childishly as she spoke. "Is it because I'm _fat?_"

Elizabeth's brown eyes widened as the pirate suddenly burst into tears. Did she do that a lot, or had Elizabeth unintentionally upset her?

"No no no, Flavio, you're not at all overweight…" she awkwardly comforted. "Do you want your rabbit back? Let… Baldrick here… comfort you…"

"Oh Baldrick!" Flavio cried, causing the spinster-looking corset-maker to rudely stare at the pretty, if a little over painted, pirate, and she seized the poor animal, caressing the ball of fluff to her shoulder. "You're the only one that actually understands me and loves me for who I am, not how thin my waistline is!"

…Yes, Flavio. Baldrick the bunny understands you completely, even though he only met you today…

"And you, madam!" Flavio suddenly cried, whirling around to glare at the woman whose shop the two were in and ignoring the terrified rabbit's furious attempts at escape. "How can you expect to profit from this trade of yours if you're so rude to your clientele? I shall make certain that my very good friend, the _governor's daughter_ Eliza Swarm—"

"Actually, Mr—Miss Flavio," Elizabeth interrupted timidly, worried that her next words might set the pirate off into another onslaught of tears and vows of never eating pies again, "my name is Elizabeth Swann—"

"Yes, Elizabeth Swann herself here!" Flavio hurriedly amended, glaring at the terrified shopkeeper. "Mark my words, Madam, this insult shall ne'er be forgotten! You'll never sell a strip of whalebone again!"

"I apologise most respectfully for whatever insult I may have done you, milady!" the woman suddenly cried, wringing her hands in distress. "But I sincerely doubt we carry corsets for rabbits!"

"What do you think I am, insane!" Flavio bellowed in return. "I know you don't carry corsets for rabbits—that's why I'm here! At a _corsetry!_ To commission a corset for my _darling_ Baldrick here!"

If Flavio hadn't stolen Elizabeth's shoes, she would've made a run for it. As it was, the wealthy governor's daughter was currently shoeless. And seeing how she'd only been truly shoeless three times in her life—when she was born, when she'd been stranded on the island with Jack a year ago, and whenever she bathed or slept—and seeing how none of the aforementioned situations involved corsetries, or indeed, rabbits, Elizabeth felt a distinct wave of discomfort wash over her as she stood barefoot in a corsetry with only a paranoid pirate holding a rabbit for company.

"Lizzie!" Flavio suddenly shrieked, causing the fair-haired governor's daughter to jump in shock.

"I don't like it here," she explained, clutching her precious Baldrick closer to her. "They're all so very mean and insulting and cruel, _and_ they discriminate without cause!"

Elizabeth blinked her brown eyes in confusion. "How—how so?" she asked timorously.

Flavio's response was to rub Baldrick's soft fur in a comforting manner. She looked around surreptitiously, before communicating in a whisper the Tsarina of Russia would have been able to hear with minimal difficulty, "They don't do corsets for rabbits."

Elizabeth blinked yet again. "…Oh."

"And I don't mean they don't just not stock them," Flavio continued martyr-like. "They don't design them neither." She whirled back to deal the spinster the coldest violet-eyed glare she could muster. "_This,_ madam, is _terrible_ customer service," she proclaimed in a most damning manner.

And with that she'd grabbed Elizabeth's wrist and attempted to drag her towards the door.

"Flavio!" Elizabeth protested fervently, attempting to wrench her arm away from the madwoman. "I've not my shoes!"

"Well that was a tad injudicious," Flavio called back cheerfully. "Should have thought of that before you let your pretty feet step out onto the garden path, now, shouldn't you?"

"No, Flavio," Elizabeth attempted to explain. "You took my shoes and—"

"What? I did _not_ take your shoes!" Flavio protested, looking utterly scandalised. "Look look look—do you see?" And he stuck out a leg very inconveniently in the doorframe, looking expectantly at Elizabeth.

A beat.

"…Yes…?"

"I'm not wearing your shoes," Flavio explained. Looking down, Elizabeth could see that this was true; Flavio wore the knee-length black boots that gentility wore for riding. Looking at the leg, Elizabeth felt a wave of resentment cover her; Flavio wasn't particularly tall, yet his legs were rather long and shapely.

"Yes, Flavio, I see…"

A pause.

"Lizzie, why are you glaring at me like that?" Flavio blinked in confusion. "_I_ don't have your shoes!" And she suddenly held her pet out in unquestionable sacrifice. "Glare at Baldrick!" she pleaded. "Baldrick has your shoes!"

"But _you_ were the one that took them off!"

"I wanted to see your stockings!" Flavio defended, tears sprouting to her eyes. "They were so pretty, and you have the most beautiful legs, which really does the silk justice…"

And _that_ was the real reason as to why Elizabeth was desperate to be away from this rather flirtatious Italian.

* * *

"It's not so much a question as to whether he's right in the mind or not," Bill was explaining rather calmly to a confused-looking Gibbs and young William over a pint of ale in what can only be assumed to be a seedy tavern, "as I think it's apparent as to what the answer to that question to be. But Mr Gibbs, you must surely be familiar with the saying: 'Judge not a man by how he treats his equals, nor his betters, nor his inferiors, but by the condition of his hat.'"

A strangely inappropriate silence fell upon the small table, in which Will and Gibbs exchange polite glances of concern. Bootstrap look from the pirate to the blacksmith and back again. "Are you not… familiar with that saying?" he asked unbelievingly. At the younger Turner's shaking of head, Bill exploded. "Christ, lad! I assume your mother raised you as a God-fearing, decently-educated, respectable, courteous, well-mannered, law-abiding citizen, did she not?"

The question was more of a plea, a desperate, anxious plea for an answer, for reassurance. Will rushed to give it. "Yes, sir!" he said shortly.

Bill's reaction was utterly unforeseeable: his brown eyes widened, then flared, then misted, then narrowed, then faded away as he presumably reminisced. Sighing, he leaned forward, and whispered across the table, so that only Will can hear: "Son, did your mother, by any chance at all, teach you the Lost Sacred Parabolic Fables of Olden Lore?"

"The _what?_" Gibbs echoed, but Will understood him completely.

"Of course she did, sir," he replied, shocked at the mere thought that his dearly beloved and sadly departed parent would do otherwise.

"_NO!_"

"No?" Gibbs enquired over his mug of ale.

"Yes!" Bill agreed.

"Is that approval, father?"

"No!"

"No?" Gibbs asked again.

"Yes," Bootstrap stressed.

"No, I mean, I wanted to know why you were saying 'no,'" Gibbs attempted to explain. "'Cause as you can clearly see, mates, I am the only one in this lil' circle o' three here _not_ in the know of what is being said 'no' to, you know?"

Both father and son attempted to process this long and lengthy speech.

"Mr Gibbs," Bill began after a long swig from his tankard, "are you, in your own way, expressing a profound desire and curiosity to have knowledge of the tales of the Lost Sacred Parabolic Fables of Olden Lore?"

"…Yes, I think I am," Gibbs said solemnly. Clearly, the man was drunk already.

Ah well: a man had to be somewhat inebriated to willingly consider and reflect upon the Lost Sacred Parabolic Fables of Olden Lore anyway. Sighing, he began:

"The Lost Sacred Parabolic Fables of Olden Lore are the…" he glanced furtively at Will, who nodded solemnly for him to continue. "The… optional, and faintly questionable, additional…" He swallowed, certain that his next words would be a blasphemy within themselves. "Biblical tales," he finished unhappily with a swig of watered ale.

"…I don't quite follow," Gibbs cheerfully admitted. Anything for a good yarn, aye Mr Gibbs?

"Well…" he said. "Don't get me wrong; I may not be a God-fearing man, but I'm no atheist either: I am certain that the Good Book had, on some level or other, been compiled from the words of the Lord Almighty. However, there were… fables that the first editor of the Bible tactfully decided to leave out." A swig of the watery beverage to steady his nerves. "Otherwise, they'd have made us wonder if Our Lord was dropped on the head as a babe.

"Now, there is a sect within the Puritan movement that study and take into account all of these strategically-misplaced tales alongside those of the official guide to the Christian creed. His mother," and Bill indicated his son with a gesture of his head, "was one of them. Of course, when I first met her, I didn't know that. Good Lord, how I didn't know that."

Will effectively gasped in melodrama. "Father, you didn't just… take the Lord's name in vain?" he whispered, panic-stricken.

"…Maybe…" Bill admitted, carefully avoiding direct eye contact.

Will, completely unexpectedly, rather uncharacteristically, yet quite understandably, fainted. Poor blacksmith.

"Now then," Bootstrap continued, turning back to Mr Gibbs as he was completely oblivious to the fact that, as the caring father that he assumed himself to be, the civil thing to do would have been to help his son up off of the floor—he'd been sitting on a stool, poor devil—and drag him back home to where a warm, comfortable bed and nightcap presumably awaited his arrival. "Where were we? Ah yes, the Lost Sacred Parabolic Fables of Olden Lore are a large collection of multifarious, badly-written, notoriously-punctuated tales weaved from the dark, disturbed recesses of the criminally-insane mind from the ancient world's most primitive philosophers—"

"Why don't you give an example of one of these… Lost Sacred Parabolic Fables of Olden Lore?" Gibbs interjected on seeing the man work himself up into a suicidal frenzy.

"Yes, that would be a lot easier on my mental health," Bootstrap agreed, swiping at his suddenly sweating brow. He paused, staring into his watery ale. "Are you at all familiar with the angel Lucifer's fall from grace?"

"Of course!" Gibbs exclaimed, looking highly affronted. "What sort of non-practising Christian do you take me for?"

"Just making certain, Mr Gibbs. But I assume that you are familiar with the cause of said angel's fall from Heaven?"

"Jealousy, desire for the throne and crown of God, failed mutiny against Our Lord?" Gibbs summarised.

"Yes, that sounds about right," Bootstrap agreed, pausing uncomfortably and fidgeting with his neckerchief. "And you know that Lucifer led an army of angels against those of the Almighty?"

"There was a dragon in there as well, come to think of it…"

"Really?" Bill asked, blinking in surprise. "I'm not familiar with any dragon…"

"Aye, there's a dragon in there with nine crowns or nine heads or somethin', but that's not really the point—"

"But… But I thought the dragon was a part of the Lost Sacred Parabolic Fables of Olden Lore and therefore omitted from the standard Biblical text…" Bootstrap murmured to himself in confusion.

"Come now, Bill, don't be a fool!" Gibbs reprimanded with a hearty pat on the shoulder. "Of course the dragon's included in the Bible! Why, as a growing lad, that was me favourite part!"

A pause. "Yes, Mr Gibbs…" Bill worried his lower lip, uncertain how to proceed.

"Go on…" Gibbs encouraged with a failed attempt at stealing Bootstrap's beverage.

"Well… Ah…" Bootstrap looked nervously to where his son's unconscious self was currently getting trampled upon, silently contemplating upon the pain of having one's face walked over. "Did you know that the dragon was rode by…" And he murmured the last noun into his mug.

"Sorry mate, what?"

"…Rabbits," Bootstrap answered meekly.

"…I don't quite follow…" Gibbs said after envisioning nine wriggly-nosed rabbits riding on the back of a winged reptilian steed.

It was now that Bill realised that he would have to explain a large bulk of his late wife's unorthodox beliefs in order to make the parable clear. Sighing, he looked up at the confused shipmate.

"The angel Lucifer was tempted by the rabbits on God's great green earth, Mr Gibbs," he calmly explained. "Just as the serpent tempted Eve in the garden of Eden, so Lucifer was tempted by the hop-legged creations of the Lord Almighty."

"How was he tempted?" Gibbs asked, ever one for morbid details.

Bill's response was to raise an eyebrow. "You don't want to know."

"Aye, I do!"

Bootstrap adamantly shook his head, refusing to be swayed. "I'd rather not have Sparrow on me back for scarring one of his most highly-valued crewmates and confidants."

"I could go to hell for all Jack cares," Gibbs contradicted, looking pleadingly up at the taller sailor.

Bill sighed, drumming his fingers on the table whilst searching for an appropriate metaphor. "The rabbits tempted Lucifer the same way a whore entices her next client," he said rather bluntly.

Gibbs' eyes effectively popped from out of his skull.

"Now," Bill said cheerfully, "next blasphemous topic, please—"

"Wait!" Gibbs interrupted, leaning forward with a glint of madness in his eyes. Clearly, Jack's influence was beginning to get to him.

"Yes, Mr Gibbs?"

"What was their punishment?"

Bill blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"Their _punishment,_" Gibbs repeated. "Lucifer and his minions were thrown down into the deepest fiery pits of eternal torment in Hell, the serpent was made to crawl upon his belly, Adam and Eve were granted mortality and banished from the Garden of Eden… What happened to the rabbits?"

"Oh, _that,_" Bill comprehended. He looked the sailor straight in the eye. "Why, Mr Gibbs, I thought _that_ would have been obvious."

"What happened to the rabbits?" Gibbs pressed eagerly.

"Bad dentistry."

Before this fact could even begin to sink into Gibbs' mind, a raving mad lunatic chose that particular moment to dive under their table.

"Lovely night for it, Jack," Bill greeted him, unfazed.

"_Hide me!_" came the pleading whisper. The two seated men looked across at each other in confusion.

"What's wrong with him?" Gibbs murmured uncertainly.

"What isn't? OW!" Bill yelped as someone kicked at his shin.

"_Bootie!_" The shrill shriek rose high above the normal chatter and clatter of the tavern. Of course, nobody actually noticed.

Bootstrap's face visibly drained of colour. "Quick, help me get 'im out!" he pleaded at Gibbs, who shook his head in reply.

"I've long since taken a vow to stay clear of Jack's women—men—Jack's people in general, really."

"But if Jack's not here, then I'll be the one that—"

Flavio appeared suddenly out of thin air, curling comfortably into Bootstrap's lap. He sighed melodramatically. "Oh Bootie, my _inamorato_, I've such a bad, bad day," he confessed into Bill's ear.

"What a pity," Bill agreed, attempting to shift the lighter pirate off.

"I accidentally misplaced your future daughter-in-law," Flavio whined, sniffling in despair. "And—and—and she had Baldrick with her!"

Will would have fainted again at the thought of his future bride, childhood sweetheart, and overall love of his life alone and defenceless against Baldrick the bunny, declared Hound of Satan. Unless, of course, she had a poker. It's amazing how much damage a supposedly gentle-natured noblewoman could do with those.

"On the plus side, I've got more dresses!" Flavio exclaimed, demeanour effectively brightening. "And a few corsets! They're being made as we speak. Elizabeth Swann was so good as to pay for them…"

Gibbs was tactfully stealing glances under the table as this exchange was occurring. "You alright down there, Jack?" he whispered. The captain bravely nodded.

"Does he know I'm here?" he mouthed back.

Gibbs furrowed his brow, unable to understand this simple phrase without the aid of sound.

"Have you seen Jackia?" Flavio asked timidly, looking up at Bill through long golden lashes.

"Come to think of it, I 'ave, he's right under there," Bootstrap said with a kick at Jack's shoulder.

Flavio squealed in delight before immediately diving under the table and wrapping his arms about the frozen captain. "Jackie!" she crooned, positively beside herself with ecstasy. She nestled her face into his shoulder. "Jackie, did you miss me?"

The unfortunate Jack Sparrow had to then endure a fluttering of affectionate kisses, vainly twisting his head away from the overly-friendly lunatic and consequently hitting his skull against the bottom of the tabletop seven times. Eventually, he was able to crawl from under the furniture, unintentionally bringing a clinging Flavio with him.

"_Get off!_"

"Aw, look, how sweet, he's playing hard to get—William?" And the Italian had released a choking Jack Sparrow to attend to the unconscious Will.

Crawling madly over to the blacksmith, she poked at William several times before sitting back on her haunches, her lips trembling. Suddenly, she burst into tears.

"What's the matter?" Jack asked fearfully, discreetly backing away from the bawling buccaneer.

"Oh, Jackie, Jackie Jackie Jackie, my darling…" And Flavio turned fearfully towards the terrified-looking captain, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeves. "I think William's dead," he whispered. "Oh Jackie, William is dead, and I… I'm crying… And—And my makeup's running!"

Poor Flavio: his makeup was no longer perfection incarnate. Tentatively, Jack edged a little closer to the sobbing pirate with running makeup, hesitant as to whether his sudden brainwave would have the effect he hoped for.

"Flavio?"

The vulnerable-looking Flavio looked curiously up at Jack, sniffling. "Hmm?"

"You know what would make you feel better about the eunuch's… unconsciousness?"

"No…"

"If you went and fixed your face—I mean your—"

"What's wrong with my face?" Flavio asked.

"Nothing's wrong with your face—"

"Ah you saying that my face is ugly?" Flavio asked dangerously.

"No—"

"Oh, so my face just isn't good enough for you then, is that it?" Flavio shrieked. "What kind of face are you after anyway?"

"Your face is _fine,_" Jack assured, mentally kicking himself in the arse for attempting to 'comfort' the emotionally-unbalanced female impersonator.

"So why did you tell me to go fix it, then!"

"Do you have a mirror?" Jack asked suddenly.

Nodding, Flavio's narrowed eyes remained fixed on Jack's as she slowly reached into her coat pocket and held out a small, circular, chipped hand-mirror. Jack took it only to hold it up in front of the Italian pirate.

Flavio's violet eyes widened before rolling into the back of his head and he effectively swooned, lying unconscious next to William. Grinning at his achievement, Jack slipped the mirror into his own pocket, joining his silently observing crewmen at their table.

"So," he beamed, "how has your day been?"

* * *

**AN:** Sorry for this very late update, I'd been working on other fics and this one kinda got neglected… Thanks for reading and don't forget to review!


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